


Face to Face

by Kappakay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, really just listen to all of season 4 first, spoilers for up to episode 148
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25374400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kappakay/pseuds/Kappakay
Summary: A reflection on control.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Face to Face

“Statement ends.” 

The words taste as ash in his mouth. Sighing heavily, Jonathan Sims dropped the crisp white page from his hand in favour of rubbing his eyes. Another statement offered with nothing to show for it. Deep within his stomach, he felt that familiar tug, that feeling of hunger that could not be satiated with any normal meal. Pulling his hands away from his face, he saw the slow crawl of text inch across his scarred skin, each word faded, almost blending in with his own complexion. Not good enough. 

These statements weren’t working anymore. 

Jon stared at the door to his office, feeling the Watchers gaze shift away, the last string snapping as his shoulders slump forward. Lights flash behind his eyes, the headache once tamed from the cascade of words tumbling from freshly inked pages, clawed again at the edges of his temple. At this point, he’s not entirely sure who he is talking to, if he’s in fact talking to anyone at all, or if the tape recorders are just his monstrous way of keeping himself company. Regardless, the tape continued to spin, awaiting his words. 

Jon fights with himself, trying to find something to say, but the reality is, he couldn’t care less what had happened in the last weeks of Jordan Kelly. As the Watcher pulled away, he felt the knowledge drop into his head, like an unwanted Christmas gift, but he left the bow in place. The energy it took to pull it off versus the satisfaction he felt with Knowing, had become a detriment. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know how much longer he could survive on these second hand offerings. Even the freshest statements, with ink still wet did little to dull the ache Jon felt in his bones, the ravenous hole in his stomach growing ever larger by the day. His mind turned to Jess Tyrell, but rather than focusing on the atrocity of the act as was his usual reaction, he recalled the satisfaction, the power, the _righteousness_ that came with feasting on her fear. Fresh fear, untapped, festering away within her soul, waiting for him to feed on it. It was a tall glass of ice cold water in the middle of a desert.

Hunger gnawed insistently in his stomach, demanding a more robust meal. Common foods held no temptation over him anymore, only the forbidden words of the denied reality and he had been shirking proper nutrition for too long. In the quiet, the Archivist heard the footsteps of those working above, each one a potential new well, a new glass of water. Jon grunted, slamming his hands down on the table. No. He can’t do that, he couldn’t, he _wouldn’t._

The people above angered him, with their perfectly intact veil of oblivion draped haphazardly over their reality. Out of all the statements and accounts the institute got, maybe a tenth of them were of actual use, but those above never knew. They dutifully followed their roles, never questioning why perhaps, some people came through smelling of ozone or dripping an endless supply of mud or of the ever growing collection in artefact storage. But that’s why all of these nuisances were relegated to the archive. His Archive. The one they all sneer at.

How he loathed their compliance. 

Perhaps, if they were so quick to dismiss real accounts, they would be even quicker to deny ones that happen in front of them, Ignorance is a powerful tool if put in the right hands, and Elias seemed to have a knack for picking compliant dolls for librarian roles. No one would fuss if one of their own suddenly started looking over their shoulder, or yammered on about a body made of eyes watching them. The archive crew got to them, the whispers passed around the Canteen would say, and no one would think twice about them. 

Just one person, one fresh statement. That’s all he needs to keep up his power.

Just. One.

A hand clamped down tightly on his shoulder, stirring him from his trance. Blinking, Jon took his surroundings, realizing that the usual beige shelves that lined his office had at some point been replaced with the rows of pristine white shelves of the Archives. He felt his head lull to the side, his eyes unfocused as he stared without intention at the hulking shadow behind him. Daisy was tall, more so than his 6’2” stature, with a beating red, liquid aura oozing around her outline, vestiges of the Hunt still clinging to her. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, her voice muffled as though his ears were stuffed with cotton balls. 

“Let go,” He demanded, feeling the gentle stir of compulsion reaching out towards Daisy. The hand tightened on his shoulder in response, and he winced, the compulsion pulling back in sympathetic pain.

“It’s calling to you isn’t it?” Framed as a question, but spoken as though she already knew. Jon shoved his shoulder, the sultry string enticing him to take the marbled stairs up to the library. So many minds milling about, so many potential statements to feed upon. There had to be more like Tim working here, who had genuine interactions with the Entities, stories that would help fill that insatiable hunger. With a grunt, Daisy spun the limp Jon around, grabbing both of his shoulders tightly but stopped short of shaking him. “Jon, come on you’re better than this.”

His dazed gaze sharpened on her, the incredulity of the statement making him scoff. “Am I? I am a _monster_ after all.” Jon spits.

“So? You still have a choice on how monstrous you are.” Daisy challenged, voice hard. Jon huffed, trying to shrug her off again, but her grip came down harder and he winced, the pain chasing away the fog.

”I don’t know if I do. Not anymore” Jon said quietly, defeated. What did it matter if he gave in? Everyone already thought so little of him, if he truly turned down the path of monsterhood, who would be surprised? Who would even miss him? _Martin would,_ a small voice offered n his mind, but he shook it away before the sentiment could take hold. After all, Martin was…. Jon signed mentally. He wasn’t sure what Martin was doing, just that he missed his former assistant. 

“You can.” Daisy insisted, eyes intense. With a huff of derision, Jon strained against Daisy’s vice grip, only to have her growl at him, nails digging sharply into his shoulder. “If I can chase away the.. The Hunt then you can do the same for the Eye.”

“It’s not the same,” Jon retorted. “I knew what I was signing up for in order to get out of that coma. I gambled my humanity away for this, and if I don’t follow through, I might as well have never come back”

Daisy’s eye twitch, her grip relaxing slightly, yet still not enough for Jon to escape. “Don’t say that.”

“I was dead.” Jon snapped, fixated Daisy with an unflinching glare. “For six months, lying trapped in that hospital bed, I relieved all of the statements I had taken directly. I got to watch first hand what you and others had experienced and I could do nothing. A loop of terror curated specifically for me, with the Eye drinking it all in, gleefully. I wished for it to stop, for some reprieve but it never came. I was trapped in a purgatory, because I wasn’t human enough to die, but I wasn’t monstrous enough to live. That was my choice; to die human or live as a monster. Perhaps looking back, it would have been better to give in, just let myself rot away, another corpse for the Institute. But I didn’t. I was a coward, and here I sit, alive. I tried to reason with myself, to justify my choice because if I could use the Eye’s power to help save you, and right the wrongs that have been committed, then that’s worth it. Without it I’m… useless.” 

“If I stop taking statements, stop feeding the Eye and being powerful, why did I bother coming back? Everyone hates me and Martin is-” He cut himself off with a pained inhale, looking off to the side. No, he wouldn’t unearth the pain that festered there. Martin made his choice, and Jon had to respect him. He breathed in shakily, feeling the last few strings Beholding pulled grow slack. Perhaps Daisy was counting on that, or it was a side effect of holding him hostage, but either way, he was thinking more clearly now, and he knew what he said was the unfiltered truth.

Daisy sighed softly, and released her grip from his shoulders, her hands falling limply to her sides as she straightened her back. “Fine. If you’re so convinced you’re a monster, go feast. If you think there isn’t any part of you that is worth saving, or any reason for you to hold on to your humanity, go ahead.”

Surprised by the sudden freedom, Jon could only blink, confused. He stared up at Daisy, who met his gaze evenly. Slowly, he angled his body back towards the stairs, keeping one wary eye on Daisy, who made no move to stop him. He put one foot in front of the other. Still no movement. Another foot picked up and placed ahead of the other and Daisy continued to watch him, her pupils wide as if she was watching a mouse skitter across the floor in desperation. A silent predator. 

Did he actually want to continue? Logically, yes. Being a monster was what was expected of him after all. Eventually, he reached the railing and placed one hand upon it, ready to go up the stairs, but something stayed his feet. But what if there was a way? Some way for him to hold on to his humanity, if even just a bit longer? He drummed his fingers on the railing, unsure what to do, as his eyes stared up at the narrow steps leading up to a potential feeding ground. The hunger was still there, patiently stoking the fires of his desire, but thanks to Daisy forcing him to stop and focus on something else, he found the call less appealing. Maybe that had been her plan, or maybe it had been a surprise effect of her intervention, but regardless, Jon felt grateful. 

Dropping his hand from the rail, he turned back around to face Daisy. There was a small smirk on her face as she stepped forward. The hand she placed on his shoulder this time was lighter, more an extension of friendship than the restraints of prison. He allowed her to lead him to one of the desks his old assistants had utilized back when he had some. Like a limp doll, Jon took a seat on one side of the desk, Daisy choosing to occupy the seat across from him. If he remembered correctly, this particular desk had once been Tim’s and he felt a new ache around the wound the Unknowing had left. Another reminder of his failings as a human.

“Well?” Daisy asked quietly, gently prodding him to focus on the present with her simple question.

“I can’t let go.” Jon admitted softly. Daisy nodded, leaning forward on the desk, her elbows braced.

“Good. Don’t.”

“I don’t-” Jon cut himself off, the ability to articulate himself failing in this particular area. Not that he had ever been very good at talking about his feelings but if anyone would understand his grapplings with humanity, it would be Daisy. 

Hesitantly, she reached out her hand, pausing halfway between them before darting out and grabbing one of Jon’s hands. He jumped at the contact, looking at Daisy curiously, as she held his gaze. “Being self-destructive is not how to handle this.”

Jon laughed with no mirth. “I fail to see another way to live with myself.”

“What have I told you about mopping?.” Daisy questioned, raising her eyebrow. Jon looked away. “Sure, it’s hard to see now, but it can be done.”

“How?” Jon asked, his lucidity bringing desperation. He felt his hand contract, squeezing Daisy’s for an answer. 

“I doubt I can give you an answer for that,” Daisy answered. “You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“There’s only so much knowledge books can impart on you. It’s one thing to theorize and speculate on the human psyche, it’s another to actually experience it yourself. Knowledge means nothing in the face of understanding.”

Daisy sighed. “Fair point.”

Jon eyed her. “How do you do it? Keep yourself in check?” As the words left his mouth, he felt the light tendrils of her thoughts press against his mind. He pulled up a barrier against it, not wanting to invade her privacy beyond what she was willing to share.

His friend hummed. “It’s not easy. The blood pumps loud whenever the Hunt calls, especially if I walk anywhere outside the Institute at night. It’s been a part of my life for so long that it’s almost like putting on a second skin, that it’s just who I’m supposed to be me, but I know it’s not. After catching Calvin and finally giving the bastard what he deserved, I felt amazing. Not at peace, but warm. The years after I tried to chase that same satisfaction, but once any chase ended, I found myself hungering for the next, never satisfied. I went around with blinders, not thinking or feeling anything outside of my current target. There’s no telling how many people I hurt, but I know that I don’t want to know the numbers. 

“In the coffin, I was cut off. Being separated from the Hunt meant my blinders were off and I was alone in so many ways. Really had to take a look at myself when I wasn’t choking. Realized I didn’t know who I was without the Hunt, but I didn’t want to be that person ever again. When we first got out, I wasn’t sure who I was, but I felt more like me then I had in a long while. I saw the strain it put on Basira, for me to be free, and I felt guilty. I began to hear the blood again, and though the call was tempting, I couldn’t answer it. Not now that I know what I am without it, and knowing who I was with it… I can’t go back to who I was. I know Basira wants me to, even if she won’t say it but I can’t. I just can’t. I’d rather die than let it take me, and that’s my choice.”

“How do you resist it?” Jon asked tentatively. 

Daisy tapped the back of his palm with her thumb, her lips slightly pursing as she looked for the proper words. Jon could practically feel the mechanisms in her mind whirr to life as they tried to articulate something that she intuitively felt. “You know how you can hear a heartbeat when you’re alone? The double thump before a brief pause? I never heard the pause before, but now I try to focus on that. I figure it’s what the Hunt doesn’t want me to hear. The silence between the calls. If the call is what it wants me to respond to, then I will relish the silence. It controlled me for so long, that if I slip back in, I’m gone. I don’t get a third chance.”

Silence fell over the two as Jon digested her words, Daisy casually rubbing her thumb across the back of his palm softly. A tender touch, something Jon would never have attributed to Daisy before the coffin. The more Jon was able to see Daisy for who she was, the more fond he felt for her. After the silence had stretched long enough, Jon broke it with a mumble. “And you called me moppy.”

Daisy huffed out a laugh, a small smile playing at her lips. “Yeah. Don’t normally talk that much.”

Jon winced. “Sorry about that.”

She shrugged. “S’alright. Didn’t feel anything like when Elias pulled out my words.”

“So, you’re saying to listen to what the Eye doesn’t want me to do?”

“I’m saying, find something that brings you peace. If that’s listening to the quiet, then that’s it.”

Jon hummed, absentmindedly picking at the hem of his vest with his free hand. What Daisy was saying made sense, but he didn’t know if he could ignore his patron as easily. The Hunt was a more simplistic entity, while the Eye was complex, woven into the core of what humanity praised. Curiosity. The Eye’s call was baked into the facet of how Jon identified himself; someone who recklessly pursued knowledge. The Hunt may have been Daisy for years, but it's animalistic, it's easier to shake for humans because it’s not encouraged in the right environments. To be curious in an Institute dedicated to learning is a boon. It wasn’t as easy to remove people from what was considered a positive environment. Somewhere he could freely indulge upon the truth.

Daisy snapped her fingers in front of his face, making Jon jump. “Your eyes are being freaky again.”

Jon sighed, smacking his own cheek. “Sorry. I’ll try to work on that.” 

“Why do they do that glowing thing?”

“I think it happens whenever I’m subconsciously looking for my connection to the Eye. Granted, I can’t see when it starts happening, so I can only hypothesize.”

“Mmm. A good sign for me to look out for then. Slap some sense into ya before you get too far gone.” Daisy smirked at him, raising her eyebrows once, and Jon sighed loudly. 

“Please don’t hit me harder than you have to.”

“You don’t want to get hit? Don’t connect to the Eye. Simple as that.”

“I don’t really know how to do that anymore. I fell in because of who I am and I remain connected through my own dangerous curiosity. I have one small thought, my mind runs with it and boom, connection established with Beholding. And it doesn’t exactly help that I feel more complete when I… feed.”

“It’s easy to think that. It’s a siren call, pulls you in tight, but it isn’t all you are. The hiccups between the peaks are more you. It’s just easier to forget that.” Daisy reiterated, covering Jon’s hand with hers. Feeling tired, he slumped forward, resting his head in his free hand, as he tried to not let his mind wander upstairs. Daisy tilted her head, a softness overtaking her features. “Martin would be proud of you.”

Again, Jon inhaled sharply, as if in pain. “He’d think me pathetic.”

“No,” Daisy retorted. “He’d be proud of you for talking to someone. Better than going at it alone. We’re a team, even if some of us are not acting like it.”

Wetness pooled in his hand, and Jon hastily wiped at his face. Gently, Daisy took hold of his other hand, pulling it away from his face to properly look at him. Jon's eyes skittered around, ashamed, not wanting to look directly at her. Slowly but with purpose, Daisy let go of one of his hands, reaching across to wipe away his tears carefully with her thumb. He was reminded again of how soft her touches could be, and Jon felt something within him snap as more tears streamed out of his eyes. Daisy was right; she had changed a lot since they got out of the coffin, and honestly, Jon liked who she was. She looked out for him in a way no one else bothered to. They had a kinship not just through their shared experiences with the coffin, but with being Avatars, and it felt good to have someone to talk to. If he had ever been given a sister, Jon imagined she’d be something like Daisy.

“You don’t have to have all the answers right away. Take it as it comes. Build your resolve, and know I’ll be here to help you fight it.”


End file.
